Extension
by Orthane
Summary: Sometimes in life, we're never who we want to be. OC-Insert as the Winter Soldier.
1. Chapter 1

A slow inhalation sounded in my ears.

 _Is that me?_ I wondered hazily. The thought floated from corner to corner of my brain; I couldn't make sense of it.

 _Who am I?_ I blinked back the blurriness, and when it finally stopped from hindering my vision, I got clear vision of the lights attached to the ceiling. _Where am I?_

I lied there in silence — not entirely sure if I was waiting for something or someone, but I still waiting. After a few minutes, I focused on myself. My mouth felt stale and cottony, one of my arms felt numb and cold, my headed throbbed with vengeance. I had no idea what was going on, but what I did know was that there was bad feeling in my gut made me want to hurl.

Willing my stiff limbs to move, and they did move — slowly, that is — but got jolted from moving further from the cuffs restraining them down onto freezing metal table. Panic and confusion buzzed throughout my brain at this revelation, so I shakily lifted my head, which felt like a hundred pounds, and looked down at my body.

A gasp clogged my throat. My mouth moved with words, but no noise came out. A high pitched scree-ing flitted in ears and the whole world seemed hazy.

 _I had no idea what my name was, but I knew that this body wasn't mine._

What took my attention first was the arm. I recognized the arm. Metal, shiny, cold, with a red star on the bicep. An icon of the Marvel comics, especially in my time. The infamous arm of Bucky Barnes: the Winter Soldier.

 _Is this a joke?_ I thought frantically, _Or am I losing my mind?_

I clenched my metal hand into a fist experimentally and released, then wiggled some fingers.

It felt real, as much as I could tell without being able to touch it with my other hand.

At this point, I started panting and shifting in panic, causing me to strain against the restraints holding my torso and thighs down. I stilled before the hyperventilating could get to me.

 _No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no,_ _ **no, no, no, No, No**_

 _This—this was just a dream. J-just a nightmare that I will wake up from in any, any moment._

I waited desperately.

When hours passed, and there was no shift in this reality, I felt impending doom. _**No, please someone help me this can't be real.**_ _**I'm not—I'm not—**_

Tears poured down my temples to my ears.

 _ **God help me.**_


	2. Chapter 2

A man wearing a formal, bleached white lab coat came inside the room. Behind him followed another man with a cart.

I swallowed back a lump in my throat and croaked out, "Where am I? Who are you people?"

They ignored me — their faces not even giving a hint that they heard me. One came up to me and checked my vitals on the machine next to me, which I barely noticed until an hour ago, while the other busied himself with putting on some gloves.

"Please." I whispered feebly. "I so confused. This—this isn't me. It's—I'm—Why does my body look like Bucky Barnes? You know: the Winter Soldier?"

At that, they stilled. Then, the one in the lab coat muttered to the other, who seemed to follow his orders and walked to cart, picking up a syringe with unidentifiable liquid.

I inhaled sharply, and started struggling against the table when he started walking closer, holding up the syringe and flicking the glass container, "Wait, _god no_. I'm sorry! Please, what did I do wrong? I didn't know! Please, please give me another chance!"

I gasped when he inserted the needle in my arm. More painful than normal, I knew, because of my tense, spasming muscles.

A few seconds later, my words felt muffled to my ears and my mind quickly shut down. I struggled to stay awake while the lights flickered through my opening and closing eyelids.

"Mm nt Bcky Brnsssss."

I swear.


	3. Chapter 3

My sobbing was muffled through the mask.

 _Stop it._ _ **Stop it.**_ _I can't—I can't—_

The children. _The children._ _**Babies.**_ One buy one, they collapsed on the floor with a fresh hole between their eyes. And they stayed there, all awkward angles and small limbs with blood pooling around their heads — eyes unseeing and mouths wide open in terrified screams.

I cried harder when I saw a familiar build, _my build,_ enter the camera shot and slowly approach the bodies of the children. His knuckles looking white from clenching onto the gun.

Slowly, the Winter Soldier turned and looked directly at the screen.

Dead eyes.

—

Two weeks later:

"Once more, Winter Soldier. Who are you?"

"I'm—I'm—I'm n-not the—the Wi— gyyyyyyuuuUUUUHH _HHHHHH_ _ **HHHHHH**_!"

"Wrong. Try again. Who are you?"

"I—I'm—" A gulp and hitched breath. " _Not_ the _Winter Soldier._ I'll _**never**_ be the Winter Soldier. _**GO TO HELL YOU FUCKING BASTARDS! I'LL KILL YOU, YOU HEAR ME! YOU HEAR M—GAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!"**_

"Again, who are you?"


End file.
